Memories of Juan: ColaCao with bubbles, paella and the mysteries of life

[I originally wrote this text in Spanish when Juan, and important friend of my family, passed away during the Coronavirus lockdown, in Spring 2020. My family asked me to write an obituary to remember the place he had in our family. When I was a child, Juan used to travel from his hometown, Guatemala, to Barcelona and he used to stay with my grandparents. I am sharing this piece in my blog because my memories of Juan are linked to very important parts of my self, my life as an immigrant, my roots and my ancestors. The original Spanish version is available to read here].

To Juan

Childhood memories are a mystery. There are many theories about how the adult mind stores and manages them. I will not delve into technical or scientific details. I belong to the realm of Humanities and the Arts. My memories serve me as a powerful source of inspiration but above all as a guiding light. I was fortunate to maintain a very close relationship with my grandparents. I used to spend a lot of time in their cosy apartment. In the same room where Juan used to stay when he visited Barcelona. During his visits, I would lend it to him. I don't remember where I slept when that happened, though. Another mystery of those blurry childhood memories. I was very little.

My grandparents adored Juan. They were very generous and loving people, although they did not give away their kindness easily either. They opened their hearts only to people who were committed to kindness, affection and respect to one another.

I was too young to understand or even remember what kind of person Juan was. However, the imprint he left on my family was so profound that I clearly know he was the type of person my grandparents loved with all their hearts.   

My grandmother had many gifts and culinary secrets. From complex recipes, to things as basic as ColaCao. The Spanish cocoa powder that was the quintessential snack of my generation and that of my parents. Not everyone knew how to prepare ColaCao the right way. The key was to mix the milk in such a way that the ColaCao dyed the milk light brown but it did not dissolve completely. Thus, leaving a delicious layer of ColaCao and milk bubbles at the top that they would explode in the mouth when you ate them.

My grandmother had developed a very good ColaCao technique but above all she gave a great deal of her heart and love when preparing it. Therefore, her  Cola Cao with bubbles was the best in the world. Juan knew it. And when he stayed at my grandparents', he always asked my grandmother to prepare ColaCao "with lots of bubbles", literally. We both sat down and enjoyed it like children in the living room.   

Surely, I also witnessed Juan’s passion for my grandmother's paella more than once. My childhood memories disappoint me on this front and I don't remember it clearly.

Apparently, he used to go crazy with the Spanish rice that my grandmother cooked. That recipe also had a trick that only my grandmother mastered. At the base of the pan in which the paella was cooked, she would leave a thin and tasty layer of crispy rice. The best pleasure was to eat it with a spoon straight from the casserole, when the rest of the family had already served their plates. I have a memory of myself doing this.

Maybe Juan and I once competed to get hold of that crispy rice before my grandmother removed the casserole from the table. I can't remember, but I suspect that this would have been feasible scenario because more than once my family has mentioned how much Juan liked to eat that layer of crispy rice ... and I would not let anyone take it away from my hands so easily! It was too tasty! That I do remember clearly.

Spanish paella

 My grandfather was a great thinker. I have no memory of the relationship he had with Juan because the conversations they shared were too sophisticated for my age. My mother often told me that my grandfather and Juan could spend hours talking about Latin America and Guatemala.  Conversations that now, as an adult, I would have liked to share with Juan and with my grandfather, of course.

Since I was little, to me Juan was that person who lived very, very far from Barcelona, in Guatemala, a country to which he was fully committed. But also someone who was able to maintain a close bond with my grandparents. Despite him not being able to see them often, he loved them very much.  That left a trace on my conscious.

I left my native Barcelona to move to Asia when I was 21 years old. I live in London at the moment. In total, I have been away from my home town for 15 years.

Often, the image of Juan comes to mind with that blurry memory of us drinking ColaCao and sitting at the dining room table, next to my grandmother.

Possibly my childhood memory recalls the same kindness and humility of Juan that my grandparents respected so much. It also shows the impact that people who pass through our lives have on us.

Living abroad is a curious experiment and generates many internal questions about the relationship that each one of us have with our roots, the environment where we grew up and the bonds that we forge with other human beings around the world.

My family talks about Juan as an illustrious man committed to his native Guatemala. And I have often wondered if he carried with him that complex feeling of a divided heart between his native Guatemala and Barcelona. I would have liked to have had the opportunity to have one of those deep conversations, like the ones he used to have with my grandfather, on the subject of affection and the geographical distance.

Surely, we would address it with a proper glass of ColaCao with bubbles.

Rest in peace.